


Snowdrops

by kueble



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27677473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kueble/pseuds/kueble
Summary: Witchers don’t get soulmates.That’s not to say they don’thavesoulmates, but they simply don’t get to keep them. It’s been instilled in Geralt from a young age. Yes, he’ll most likely see flowers cropping up on his skin at some point during the course of his very long life. But whoever carries his flowers on their own skin will be horrified by it. Witchers are little boys who are reworked into monsters, and no sane person will attach themselves to that kind of life; that kind of beast. Geralt’s body is a map of scars and he can only imagine what his poor match must look like.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 23
Kudos: 581





	Snowdrops

Witchers don’t get soulmates.

That’s not to say they don’t _have_ soulmates, but they simply don’t get to keep them. It’s been instilled in Geralt from a young age. Yes, he’ll most likely see flowers cropping up on his skin at some point during the course of his very long life. But whoever carries his flowers on their own skin will be horrified by it. Witchers are little boys who are reworked into monsters, and no sane person will attach themselves to that kind of life; that kind of beast. Geralt’s body is a map of scars and he can only imagine what his poor match must look like.

Vesemir had once told them of his own soulmate, an herbalist who had shouted at him, cursed him for her body full of flowers, and chased him out of her shop. He’d avoided that town for the next century, waiting until she died to dare to walk its streets again. His voice had dripped with a pain that Geralt hoped to never know.

Geralt himself only has one mark on his body. It appeared roughly 5 years ago, and he’s been living with the painful knowledge that some sorry bastard is covered head to toe in his own flowers ever since. There’s a thin line of bright yellow buttercups curving across his left pointer finger. He’d been at Kaer Morhen when it appeared, when his finger got tingly and hot and he sat there dumbfounded while the tiny blossoms bloomed on his skin.

He’d spent the next week drunk out of his mind on Lambert’s homemade brew.

At the end of the week, Vesemir tossed his ass in the hot springs, told him to get a hold of himself, and dropped a thick pair of leather gloves on the ground on his way out. Geralt had taken the hint and keeps his hands covered as much as he can now. If he spends a lonely night running his thumb over the tiny flowers every now and again, it’s between him and the gods. It’s not like he’ll be welcomed by his match.

He’s in Posada when it happens. The message board didn’t have any worthwhile contracts, so here he sits, doing the best to ignore the prattling bard as he sips his ale. Eventually the crowd turns on the musician, and Geralt watches with amusement as he scoops up a handful of bread and makes a hasty exit.

Only then he’s walking over to Geralt, smiling brightly as he mutters some nonsense that Geralt can’t even hear because he’s suddenly lost the ability to breathe. Geralt stares up at him, frozen as he takes in the tattoos on the man’s face. There is a burst of pure white snowdrops over his right eyebrow and another line of them that starts at the right side of his forehead and trails down, bisecting his right eye before stopping mid cheek in a mirror image of his own scars.

He has to get out of here. The air in the room is stale and closing in on him and his muscles seem to lock up on their own accord. He stumbles to his feet, ignoring the way the bard shouts after him. He can’t do this - isn’t strong enough to face it straight on like Vesemir was - and he’s halfway down the street before someone catches him by the elbow and tugs hard.

“For fuck’s sake, at least talk to me,” the bard says, panting harshly but refusing to let go of his arm.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt blurts out instead of telling him to get lost.

“For running?”

“I’m a witcher,” Geralt says instead. The man actually laughs at him, the sound like bells in his head.

“I figured that out on my own. Two swords, white hair, and cat eyes?” he says with a grin. “Now care to tell me why you ran off from your _soulmate_ before I could finish introducing myself? Jaskier, by the way.”

“Geralt...and I’ll bring you nothing but pain,” Geralt pushes back, head reeling with all of these fucking _feelings_ all of a sudden. He’s been told it feels like this - a heady rush of emotions and adrenaline - when you meet your soulmate, but he just expected the mutagens wouldn’t let him feel a thing. He’d be more alarmed if he wasn’t drowning in the bluest eyes he’s ever had the grace to look at.

“I’m a bard, pain feeds my creativity,” Jaskier scoffs. “Now why don’t you take off your glove and let me see them? I’ve spent 20 years wondering what my marks look like. The day that damned lute string snapped and cut my finger open was one of the happiest days of my life, because I knew you’d finally know of me. Please show me, dear.”

“You’re supposed to flee,” Geralt argues weakly, which only makes the other man laugh again. It’s a sound he could easily get addicted to, which will just make it that much worse when he leaves. Everyone leaves him.

“What bard worth their salt would flee from such a gorgeous man, especially one who smells of heartbreaks and heroics? I’m afraid you’re rather stuck with me,” Jaskier says cheerfully. Geralt can’t get his wits about him and just holds out his hand, giving the man what he wants. Time seems to slow down as Jaskier peels his glove off and then gasps at the sight of the buttercups on his finger. “My favorite,” he says softly.

“It’s only one and I have dozens,” Geralt mumbles softly. Jaskier tsks at him and trails his fingertips over the bright yellow blossoms.

“And someday soon I hope to hear the story behind every single one of them. I wouldn’t trade them for anything, you know? We’ve only just met but I feel like I’m floating on the breeze just standing near you. Please let me have this,” he trails off. His eyes are wet, clearly on the brink of tears when he raises them to look at Geralt again.

“I have nothing to offer you,” Geralt protests, not even meaning it anymore. He’s quickly losing himself, burning in the wildfire of the man in front of him.

“Then offer me yourself,” Jaskier tells him and he finds himself nodding before he can think to deny it again. Geralt brings his hand up and cups Jaskier’s cheek. A tear falls, and he swipes his bare thumb across the soft skin, wiping it away. His gaze falls to Jaskier’s lips, ruddy from how he’d been worrying them with his teeth.

“Kiss me, my darling idiot,” Jaskier whispers. His heart is beating wilding in his chest and it’s almost as if Geralt can feel it in his own. He doesn’t think, just lets instinct take over as he leans forward and brushes their lips together. Jaskier melts into him, hands flying up to cling to his biceps as they kiss. His knees almost buckle under the pressure of those soft lips against his. 

Jaskier pulls back just enough to look at him, his eyes impossibly bright as they stand there in the middle of town and just stare at each other. He darts forward again, kissing Jaskier quickly, because apparently it’s something he’s allowed to do now. Jaskier sighs and runs his hands down Geralt’s arms before lacing their fingers together. Geralt’s only ever held hands when being lifted off the ground after sparing. His palms heat up, and he realizes it’s something he could get used to. And as he’s led back to Jaskier’s room at the inn, he vows to spend the rest of his life proving he deserves the soft comfort of his soulmate’s touch.

**Author's Note:**

> Come play with me on [Tumblr](https://kueble.tumblr.com/)


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